


just for one day

by actonbell



Series: we can be heroes [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Biting, Dom Sebastian, Dom/sub, Facials, Gentle Dom, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Sub Chris, Switching, Top Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actonbell/pseuds/actonbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The afternoon of the same day as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5658661">"by the dawn's early light."</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	just for one day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rana Eros (ranalore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/gifts).



Everyone gets told the same thing when they start out -- _never, ever fuck a co-star_ \-- and everyone does it anyway, and nobody admits it to the civilians because it's not really the same as a real-world relationship; Chris saw it growing up, even before he went onstage himself, in his mom's theatre. You have show friends and show crushes and show fucks and yes, even show loves, and once the little world of the production's over, the dynamics that kept all that going are gone. People can stay friends afterwards, or even get together for real, but that's a different kind of thing. It's hard to explain. He and Scarlett almost grew up together, working on so many movies over the years, and she feels like a sister, especially in the Marvel machine, someone who's got his back. He and Hayley love teasing each other, and she's gorgeous and fearless, so being around her is like spending time with someone from home, that easy. But that kind of long-term attachment is rare. 

He tries to stay friendly with most everyone -- directors he's gotten upset with, people he's done one movie with, even exes, especially exes -- and that's kind of the same thing too. It's the cliche, the version of the theatre people love, _one big happy family,_ and Marvel's PR operation, which probably has a GNP and population bigger than a lot of countries, loves it too. Show relationships are kind of like that. You have to click to begin with, you work together, you start to get along, you go places together, you hook up, you hook up again, you wind up commuting to work together....sometimes it feels inevitable. And other actors understand the months at places like Pinewood and fifteen-hour days and doing two, three, four auditions for the same part and still not getting it. It's like that _Fast and the Furious_ line, how in Hollywood even the cops are Hollywood. In Hollywood even the dating (and the fucking) is Hollywood.

And when hooking up like that doesn't happen, there's still tension, because all of you are tucked away from the real world together on this little island, making a different one, playing pretend. Robert told him once, ruefully, all movie sets are Vegas, except what happens there doesn't always stay there. Sometimes people do keep it going: keep dating, get married, have families, although most actors can't afford to fly their families or even spouses along to location shoots, and the distance plus the travel usually adds up after long enough, and they split. Robert got shit for moving his wife, his kids, his cats and some of his _furniture_ to Atlanta for the _Civil War_ shoot, but like he said, he wasn't paying for it, and Chris understands only all too well: in this business, you bring along what you can of your home, or you lose it. It's why he bought his place in Boston, why he keeps going back there whenever he can, even though he knows he should probably fucking piss or get off the pot at some point, because movie acting is Hollywood like big theatre is New York. These days it feels the more tightly he clings to Boston, the more it slips away, like holding sand in your fist. While the decision will probably get made for him if the big two-part finale is his last hurrah as Cap, or if he then goes movie-to-movie, he needs to either move to LA like Scott or find work at home like his mother and sisters. Do indie directing, act off-Broadway, teach drama at a university (although private classes always pay better). Buy a house somewhere. Have his own family. Build a home. He wants that, knows he needs it, needs it to ground him like nothing else has. He just can't see how the hell to get to there from here.

And _here_ is the fucking problem, because _here,_ he can't stop thinking about Sebastian, and what they did last night, _and_ this morning, and it's not just the usual post-fucking "oh yeah shit that was really hot" body memory that suddenly comes over you in the middle of standing in line for coffee. There was something about it that was _different,_ not different in degree but in kind, and that's terrifying. It's not even that it was his first time with a guy, although to be honest that is flipping Chris out a bit, more in anticipatory terror at what would happen with the internet and the paps and Marvel's marketing department if even a hint of it got out. You would be able to see Twitter blow up from deep space. But that doesn't matter, isn't what was different, really.

The difference was in _him._ His own voice saying, _Whatever you want, do it, I want whatever you want,_ Sebastian saying _I want to see how good I can make you feel, how far we can go, I want you to want me to --_ Those moments had fit together, like a key in a lock. Or the pieces in a puzzle that finally let you see what the picture you've been putting together really is. Had felt like throwing yourself over a cliff in a dream, knowing you could fall, hoping you could fly. Chris isn't naive, he's sort of tried a little BDSM: he's let some girls tie him up or order him around, and he's sometimes pushy with hookups in the heat of the moment, almost rough, which he feels weird about later, though when he'd asked they'd all said they were fine with it. (Some of them, more than fine.) But it had never been much more than playing around, spicing up The Main Event, or like seeing if you could eat slices of jalapeno straight -- something between a joke and a dare. What porn he'd seen had focused on pretty rigid roles, which reminded him oddly of acting class exercises, and looked, well, _uncomfortable._ (Yeah, no shit, Evans.) Slightly silly or weird or just unappealing, so he'd written it off as not really his thing. But what he and Sebastian said to each other last night wasn't dressing on top of the Main Event, it had _been_ the (goddamn) Main Event. It had been as physical as his first wet dream, or when he'd finally lost his cherry. And it felt that final. That, more than anything else, was what was really fucking him up. What if this thing he'd felt with Sebastian, he could feel _only_ with Sebastian? What if it didn't happen again? And if it did, what if --

And then he blows his fucking line, _again,_ the fourth or fifth time in a row. 

And not only is this a fucking reshoot, they're reshooting this particular piece because it had been directed one way months ago from a final shooting script, but somewhere along in the line, during the rushes or the editing or the first few times the directors had finally been able to sit down and watch the whole film through, someone had decided: _No, we need him to do_ this. It's his least favourite part of filmmaking: cut off from the performance, the other actors in the scene, the script, doing one little thing over and over, everyone watching. He's really trying to gut it out and not be a prima donna but even when he's calm and centered, this isn't what he's good at. Disappearing into a character, losing himself, feeling like he's in another life -- that's what he loves about theatre in the first place. It's like dancing, or a fight scene, that physical and immediate. But right now this feels like trying to make free-throws from behind his back, with _everyone watching._ He can't focus, so he can't stop screwing it up. "I'm sorry," he says, for about the twentieth time -- he can't stop apologizing, either.

Thankfully, someone suggests they stop early for lunch, and while that feels like failure too, like everything else does right now and he knows how fucking fast that'll spiral if he doesn't get on top of it, he also knows just getting out of the costume and away from the set and the fucking bit he can't do will actually calm him down. He doesn't bother wasting time getting food he knows he won't eat. He knows this is stupid, too, because the rush this morning meant he didn't eat a full breakfast, but grabbed some hardboiled eggs and protein bars and drank half a smoothie. He doesn't want to sit in his trailer, it feels too much like being locked up. He knows this is dumb because he should try to relax right now, maybe even lie down and try to meditate, at least clear his head, listen to that David Foster Wallace commencement address or something. Everything's dumb right now. Especially him.

Instead, he sits down on a couple of cement steps sheltered in a covered doorway, his legs jackknifing, and takes out his phone and a pack of cigarettes, warily glancing around for long-lens photographers. Every time he lights up it seems like one of them catches it, and every time she sees the picture online his mom gives him hell. He's seen people duck in and out of this alcove for a smoke a lot, though, so he doubts it's been discovered yet. His phone was off all morning, and he scrolls fast through the usual backlog: Twitter and Facebook, email notifications, text messages. One of those brings him up short as a yank on a leash. It's from Sebastian, timestamped a few minutes ago. No text, only an attached photo. Chris stares at it, mystified. What could it be? A dick pic, one of those memes Robert sends to people, a smiley face done in MS Paint? He takes a long drag, swallows hard and opens it.

It's simple -- a slightly overexposed shot, obviously taken with a phone, of a piece of what looks like regular printer paper, with one word written in Sebastian's upright but looped script that looks like a careful imitation of those old handwriting examples from grade school, which Chris has seen up close at least a dozen times during signings. It's large, taking up half the sheet, but carefully done. The word says:

_Breathe._

Chris is exhaling his lungful of smoke when he reads it, so he can't help but laugh, and then coughs. He looks around again to make sure nobody's watching, because he's grinning like an idiot, he can't help it. A little awkwardly, he replies one-handed:

_good thing i don't have to remember 2 do that_

A few minutes later Sebastian says:

_Was going to leave a note but didn't know where you were._

Chris grimaces.

_yeah they changed it to stage 5. sry, didn't know you were looking 4 me_

_Don't worry about it. See you at the gym at five?_

Chris's grin feels like it's going to split his cheeks and he's a little glad Sebastian can't actually see him right now. He hasn't felt this loopy since high school. _Can't wait,_ he types without thinking about it, then almost groans at himself. But Seb says:

_Me too._

Chris doesn't trust himself to type anything after that -- God knows what he'd say, a string of sparkling pink emoji hearts maybe. He's almost relieved when after a few seconds Seb signs off, probably to get lunch himself. Seb must have taken time out of his own break to try to find Chris and leave him the note, and he's absurdly touched. He puts his phone away but sits there for a little longer, thinking of Sebastian writing out the note, looking for him, and then making sure he got it, even if it was only as a picture. He thinks about having another cigarette, but it's a bad idea when he has to move around a lot and he just feels too....content. Relaxed, even, or at least not as spun up as he was. He walks to his trailer for some vitamin water and a few more protein bars, and goes back slightly early, determined to nail this one fucking reshoot scene at least so he can move on to something else.

He doesn't nail it on the first try, but they're happy enough after an hour and a half that they move on to another sequence, something that can't be finished today but can at least be set up, and he gets to run through the whole thing a couple of times, which always calms him down. It's like the gymnastics classes, and old dance routines: once he gets the steps "into his feet," as his mom says, he can lose himself in being Steve Rogers again, focusing on how it would feel to block that punch or take that blow to the stomach. How getting knocked down just makes Cap more reckless, more determined, even more dangerous. He's thought some about going back to dancing, although he's basically too old by now, but this makes dancing look tame. He knows a lot of people look down on action movies, but for him, the combination of physicality and expressing emotion is a release from the confines of his self like nothing else, except maybe sex. When he doesn't have to do it in tiny disconnected pieces, an action scene can be almost as good as a monologue for getting in character. By the time they're done, he's soaked through the front of his thick sweatshirt with the arms cut out and could almost go home and go to sleep within five minutes. But the gym workout will cool him down, his brain needing it as much as his muscles; he tries to think of it as kind of like tai chi with weight, moving meditation. 

Plus, Sebastian will be there.

Chris pretty much zones out during his workouts even though he always means to try to use them to center himself, but today he's pretty calm when he starts doing his final circuit. Which is good, because when he sees Sebastian walk in he doesn't freak out, but it's close. He's flat on his back doing _(fucking)_ crunches, concentrating on squeezing his abs as hard as he can at the top of the movement, keeping the roll up slow and controlled, breathing in time, when out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of familiar colour. His rhythm goes to shit as he he realizes it's Seb, still wearing Chris's goddamn light blue T-shirt from this morning. Seb grins at the girl on desk duty, who's clearly longing to finish her shift and get the hell out of here, Captain America doing crunches or no, and starts chatting her up a little. Meanwhile all Chris can think of is how earlier today he was pushing up under that shirt to get to Sebastian's skin, warm against his palms, spreading his fingers wide to feel as much of him as he could, while Seb kissed him within an inch of his life. 

Chris loses his balance and falls back onto the mat heavily, breath pushed out of him with a big _huff._ His trainer's talking with Sebastian and the desk girl now too but keeping an eye on Chris, and when Chris's form collapses he comes over, concerned but wry. "You okay there?" he asks, half a laugh.

Chris nods, staring at the ceiling, sweat dripping down his temples and the sides of his face. " -- Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a little distracted," the last word breathy as he sits up, tries to get his feet under him.

Sebastian appears next to the trainer, his hair falling in his face as he stands over Chris; he keeps pushing it back and trying to tuck it behind one ear. He holds out his hand to Chris, then braces his feet as Chris pulls extra-hard leveraging himself up. "Oof. Hey, don't make a mountain out of a....mosquito. Molehill. I didn't mean mosquito." Other than that, Seb doesn't appear at all nervous, as loose and easy as ever, but Chris finds his slip reassuring, endearing even. They both let go as soon as Chris is standing upright. Chris is breathing hard, partly from the end of his workout, but not only that. Sebastian looks at him with sympathy, then asks, "Remember what I told you?"

 _Breathe._ Chris smiles. "Oh, yeah....hey, you wanna go out to eat? I skipped lunch, such a dumbass. You've been to STK, right?" Sebastian's not really ignoring him, but gazing off somewhere -- Chris follows his line of sight: he's looking at the desk girl, who's slumped over like a wilted sunflower, looking terminally bored, even with the desk computer, her phone, her iPod and a face-down paperback all clustered in front of her. Chris can see why Sebastian's looking, she's pretty, but he thinks nearly all girls are pretty; he wonders if Seb thinks she's pretty too. Chris's trainer, now back by the desk again, calls "See you tomorrow!" and mock-salutes -- Chris laughs and gives him the finger -- and then tells her, "Let's lock up now, all right? Nobody else's here, and these guys usually leave by the back door, less people there, and that locks by itself." It's a familiar routine, and Chris is grateful, like he always is when people try to make sure he's got a bit of privacy left, can leave the gym by himself as a regular guy and not have to be A Famous Movie Star always on the lookout for cameras.

Sebastian looks back at him, says, "STK! Oh, yeah, sure." Chris shakes his head.

"Space cadet. Did the lack of oxygen on Mars go to your brain or something?"

 _"I_ didn't go to Mars, I just caught the guy who went there, when he did his Iron Man -- "

" -- Iron Man thing, yeah," Chris chimes in, and they both chuckle. It's been their lives for so long, they're used to how Marvel's everywhere now, even in other movies.

Sebastian looks at him, his expression still somehow off. "You wanna go....now?"

"Nah, not like this. I never got to shower this morning...." Chris plucks at the front of his sweatshirt with a disgusted look. "I gotta at least change." His trainer and the desk girl are gone by now, the lights in front off, the big flatscreen TVs by the treadmills blank and dark. "C'mon, the back door's this way." He picks up his phone and water bottle and heads for the locker room, Sebastian keeping pace with him silently as a cat. He holds the door open behind him for Seb, flicks the overhead lights back on, puts down his stuff on the counter right inside, under the half-length mirror.

All of a sudden, Seb crowds him, backing him into the door, and grabs his hands and pins them up by his face, uses momentum to shove up against Chris and keeps pushing against him, the two of them plastered together from chest to hip. He moves with the same kind of powerful grace he does during their fight scenes, and Chris has a couple of seconds to admire it before what comes next blots everything else out. Seb kisses Chris the moment after he pounces, hungry, all teeth and tongue. He shifts slightly, spreads his feet so the inside of his thighs are against the outsides of Chris's legs, shoves into him even harder, like he's trying to force both of them through the wood. His fingers are laced through Chris's and Chris feels the backs of his wrists start to ache, pressed tight against the hard surface, but he doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything; his mind is blessedly wiped clean, focused on the pure sensation blasting through him like light. 

Seb deepens the kiss even more, almost desperate, kissing Chris as if his life depended on it, the way he did this morning, making little sweet moans low in his throat. Chris feels himself relax, almost sagging in between the door and Sebastian, which feel like the last two things in the world, holding him up. Besides the pleasure, Chris is aware of an overwhelming sense of relief, like a warm flood: he didn't think last night was a fluke, not after this morning, but it's not only relief that Sebastian wants him -- it's that _this_ is what he wants, and wants from _Chris._ It's like his and Seb's bodies are communicating directly, and his consciousness, dazed and blissful, is along for the ride. It's not just the physical high and release he gets from sex, but Seb tapping into that darker, deeper need he didn't even fucking know was there until this all started, calling it up and fulfilling it at the same time. The only time he's felt this kind of rush before is on some kind of drug, not that he ever did hard stuff. Seb pinning his hands feels like he imagines those drugs would, overwhelming, primal. _Yes this now please harder more don't stop --_

Seb's tongue fucks his mouth, thrusting in and out obscenely, and then he abruptly lets go of Chris's hands, still holding him up against the wall with one hand on his shoulder, the other pulling down his baggy sweat shorts and boxers, not too far, so his cock springs up just above the soft cotton. He doesn't bother with taking off Chris's shirt, although Chris can feel their combined heat through both layers of cloth. Seb stops kissing him long enough to mutter furiously in his ear, in between biting it and mouthing Chris's neck, "Thought they'd never leave, when I came in and saw you on the floor like that I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack, all I could think about all fucking day was you -- " He kisses and sucks Chris's throat as he starts stroking him off, hard and fast, dirty. Chris groans, and Seb's other hand moves up his neck from his shoulder and covers Chris's mouth, lightly, not pressing down at all. Seb murmurs "Shh, shh....it's all right....we just can't make too much noise....what about that, right there? Is that good?" He twists his wrist in that little upswing move guys learn and love early on and Chris shoves up into his hand, panting through his nose, drunk on how Sebastian's hand feels on his mouth, gentle but keeping him quiet, Seb's thumb lying lightly on his throat. 

"How about that? Yeah?" Seb says in his ear, breath hot, voice buzzing through Chris's skin, Chris feeling the words as much as hearing them. "Right there?" and Chris groans again, low in his throat. The different sensations -- Seb pushing him hard against the door, Seb working his cock, his hand going faster and faster, Seb's other hand barely touching his mouth but silencing him -- are like hot and cold at once, icy bright and soft wet dark, and the contrast is driving him _nuts._ Seb's talking just makes it even worse: "Can't keep my fucking hands off you," he goes on, "needed to make you come, soon as I could, wanted you, so much -- " Chris is usually the talker in bed, but all he can do is moan, wordless, as Sebastian gets him nearer and nearer to the edge. He shuts his eyes, but Sebastian whispers immediately, "No, look at me, Chris, look at me please," so he does, staring right into Sebastian's eyes, barely able to focus. Sebastian's pupils are huge, the thin circle of light blue very bright against the soft black, his mouth open, breathing harsh and loud. Something changes in his face as he watches Chris start to come, Chris's pleasure reflected in his eyes, and that makes Chris thrust into his hand again, thighs jerking, hips trembling. They both keep staring at each other, like it's a dare, while Sebastian's face transfigures with desire as Chris comes.

Chris returns to his body little by little -- the door hard against his back, cooling wetness on his thighs and shorts, Seb's hand warm on his cock and thigh. Seb takes his hand away from Chris's mouth but doesn't draw back, still looking right in Chris's eyes, almost....scared? Wary? Chris leans forward and kisses Sebastian, his eyes slipping shut, lips warm and soft, almost chaste. When he pulls away, Seb looks better, not so guarded, and he runs one hand through Chris's hair, trails the back of his hand down the side of Chris's face, and finally smiles when Chris turns his head to nip at Seb's fingers. Chris is still breathing hard, and barely feels like he can stand on his own, but Sebastian's got him.

"Hey," Seb says softly, one hand on Chris's cheek. 

"Hey," Chris manages faintly, all breath, and tries to smile too. 

"You doing all right?"

"Yeah." Chris takes a big gulp of air. "Yeah, I'm...." _Wrung out. Clean. Scoured. Purified._ "....I'm fine," he manages. "No, I'm okay. I'm fine."

Sebastian laughs gently, but not in a mocking way, more like he knows exactly what Chris means. "Yeah," he says fondly, "I bet you are. Here, you want some water?" He moves off and Chris shivers, suddenly chilled at the loss of warmth. Sebastian hands him his water bottle and he drains half of it in several gulps. "Hey, not too fast," Seb says, and takes the bottle. 

"Come on....let's get you cleaned up," he says, with a devilish look. He reaches down, balancing first on one leg and then the other like a stork, pulls off his shoes, skins out of his jeans and briefs, and pulls his shirt -- _Chris's_ shirt -- over his head: from dressed to stark in about ten seconds. He's got a stunning hardon. When Chris manages to stop staring, he looks up and Sebastian's grinning at him. He can't help but smile back, and the light moment's like a little warm safe space, a pocket in time. 

Seb tilts his head sideways toward the very state-of-the-art showers: all tile floors, adjustable showerheads set into the tiled walls, frosted glass panels in chrome fixtures between the stalls. Chris pulls off his own shirt, kicks his shorts and boxers away, letting them fall on the floor with the rest of their clothes, and follows. He watches the play of muscles in Seb's ass and thighs, mesmerized, and tries to figure out what the _hell_ it is he's gotten himself into, not succeeding any better than the night before. But then Sebastian looks back at him with another smile, small but real, spreading across his face and lighting up his eyes.

Seb washes Chris's hair in the shower, using up the whole complimentary minibottle of shampoo from the chrome basket wired to the wall, digging his fingers in deep and massaging his scalp for at least five minutes. Chris stands still, his head bowed, in the full spray of water -- Sebastian must be getting cold, but he won't move -- and feels like he could fall asleep standing up here, with Seb holding him like this. It's not just that he's tired, or relaxed, but he doesn't want to examine the feeling too closely and ruin it. Sebastian's long pianist fingers circle over his skin again and again, sweep down the sides of his head to his neck, the top of his spine, around to his throat. He sighs with relief: "Thank God, I thought I was gonna leave a mark."

Chris keeps his head down, hiding his face, but his cheeks get hot immediately, and keep getting hotter, even in the warm water (a compromise: colder than he likes it, warmer than Sebastian does). Sebastian probably feels the blood rushing through the capillaries right under his skin and says, "Chris," very low. When Chris still doesn't look up, Seb quietly says again, "Chris...." 

It's not a command, but Chris can't not raise his head. Sebastian looks at him, his face full of a weird kind of greedy tenderness, and says, "Do you want one?" With his hair soaking wet and slicked all the way back, he looks much younger, and his eyes even bigger.

Chris opens his mouth to speak, but his throat's dry. He wants one so badly, he can't even fucking ask for it. He just nods. 

"Yeah, you do? You sure?"

Chris knows Sebastian wants to be sure of what Chris wants, for _Chris_ to be sure of what he wants, but it feels like a sweet torture too. He manages to rasp out, "Yeah."

Sebastian gets him to tilt his head back to rinse out the shampoo, while those fingers slide down his neck, his chest, circle his nipples, go around his waist, and then Seb pulls him in close, his hardon -- it hasn't flagged yet -- pressing against Chris's stomach. He kisses Chris, then deliberately runs his tongue down Chris's neck, over his collarbone, going even slower as he reaches thin sensitive skin next to where Chris's arm joins his shoulder, close to nerves and blood vessels but not over muscle. It'll be hidden even under a tank top, not that he's had to wear one in this movie, and it's close enough to his arm that even if someone does catch sight of it, he can plausibly explain it away as a training bruise. God knows there have been times he and Seb have both had really questionable injuries, like when Seb wound up with a bootheel print cleanly stamped on the top of his thigh that took a couple of days to even begin to fade. 

Seb bends his head, keeping his eyes locked on Chris's, then looks down and kisses his chosen spot really lightly, obviously teasing. Chris slides his hands up Sebastian's arms to his shoulders, squeezing hard, but laughs. Seb licks Chris's skin, still lightly at first, and then the licking turns into open-mouthed kissing, more and more insistent. He increases the pressure so gradually Chris can't tell exactly when Seb's lips make the seal between the air and Chris's skin, but he feels the sting as the vessels break, and then the pain goes white-hot as Sebastian sinks his teeth in. Chris gasps so sharply it hurts his throat. He usually can't even tell when he's marking a partner until later when the bruise shows up and then he's just embarrassed, especially if it's an actress who has to look good for work, but Sebastian has this down to a fucking science. He bears down for ten, maybe fifteen seconds, and then just as the pain gets unpleasant, eases up and gently licks and kisses Chris's skin, like he's tending it. It's hard for Chris to get a really good view, but he thinks it's one of the sexiest damn things he's ever seen. Sebastian repeats the whole routine all over again, more forcefully: licking, kissing, sucking, bearing down hard, _hard_ then harder, releasing Chris only when he starts to jerk and whimper in protest. 

The last time, Seb licks and kisses the bruise, and the skin all around it, so lightly and for so long it's almost hypnotic. Chris feels low noises being drawn out of his throat, not even a groan: almost a dull grinding sound, nearly on the edge of hearing. When Sebastian starts to suck, harder than before, and then bites down again, it doesn't hurt exactly, but Chris writhes under his mouth, head going back and throat arching up. Seb sinks his teeth into Chris's skin again, more deeply, and Chris cries out _"Oh"_ (and immediately thinks _oh shit I hope everyone really did go home,_ but dimly) and feels like he could come again, untouched. Seb gently kisses the swollen flesh again and again, like it's something precious, and it feels so hot and throbbing Chris almost expects to see beads of blood. But no: from what he can see, it's just a really distinct hickey, already purpling. 

Sebastian lets go of his waist and stands back, tilting his head and then lifting Chris's arm to look at his work, and purses his lips in a pleased face that looks so fucking cute Chris has to kiss him. The kiss gets heated quickly, burning out of control, and he clutches Sebastian's shoulders again, slides his hands down to the crooks of Seb's elbows, holds on as he lowers himself, kissing down Seb's throat and chest and hard slightly furred stomach, until his knees hit the tile. He looks up at Seb, wordlessly pushes at his thighs until Seb steps backward and winds up pressed against the glass panel, one palm braced against it and the other resting lightly at the back of Chris's head. 

Chris has a better idea of what he wants to do now, how to circle around the head of Seb's cock with his tongue, shield it from his teeth, not bear down too hard or go too fast, make sure it's the way Sebastian likes it. Seb moans but manages to quiet himself, gasping so loudly it sounds harsh even above the running shower's curtain of white noise. Chris digs his fingers into Seb's hips and looks up at him, meeting Seb's eyes with his cock in his mouth, and Seb looks so turned on it's like he's shocked by it. He clutches at Chris's head, accidentally pulling his hair, and lets go immediately, looking even more taken aback, but Chris feels an electric thrill shoot down his spine. He keeps looking up at Seb, silently begging. Seb moves his fingers down to the nape of Chris's neck and grips hard, and the sound Chris makes would be really loud except it's muffled by Seb's cock. Seb's thigh muscles start tensing, that tiny tremor Chris remembers from before, and he can feel a faint tart taste, the beginning of Seb's come. Almost by instinct, he waits and then pulls away at what he thinks is just about the last minute, shuts his eyes, and feels Sebastian come on his face. Fortunately it's mostly near his mouth, and he opens his eyes and leans back into the water, letting it wash Sebastian's come off his skin. Sebastian just stares down at him, his face full of emotion Chris can't begin to understand. He thinks it's one of the few times he's seen Seb genuinely speechless, rather than stalling or drifting.

Sebastian cups Chris's face in his hands like he does, which Chris already loves, carefully wiping away the rest, and runs his thumb back and forth over Chris's mouth. Chris opens his lips, drawing Sebastian's thumb in, but doesn't suck or bite; he kisses it instead, his eyes never leaving Sebastian's. Sebastian helps him up, positioning him in the shower again, and frowns when Chris winces as the spray hits his knees. Seb gets the slim bar of soap, unwraps it, works up a good lather with his hands, then bends over and carefully washes the sore spots. The skin's red and has imprints from the tile, but isn't raw or broken. 

"That was a great dramatic gesture," he scolds slightly, and it's been so long since either of them said anything Chris is a little startled. "I mean, it was hot. Very fucking hot. But you don't need to....I don't want you to hurt yourself, okay?"

"I don't care," Chris says, honestly. "I wanted to. It doesn't hurt that much....when I feel it I'll remember you. Right now. Like when I see the...." He trails off and waves his hand over the bruise on his chest.

Seb draws in a long breath and shakes his head, quiet again, then works up more lather with the soap and draws Chris close, his hands slick. He winds one arm around Chris's neck, hand in his hair again, and kisses Chris as he starts gently jerking him off, more smoothly and slower than in the locker room. He murmurs in Chris's ear, that low litany of filthy praise Chris already feels addicted to: _you're so beautiful, so good, I love to see you down there sucking me off, let me take care of you now...._ The words go right under Chris's skin, sink in deep, layers under his tattoos. Chris is leaning on Sebastian, head on his shoulder, putting so much weight on him he must be heavy as fuck, but Sebastian doesn't even seem to notice. He just keeps on talking, a soothing stream of words, and Chris buries his face in Sebastian's neck when he comes, Sebastian's mouth against his ear, the sentences broken and jumbled by then: _....so good....that's right, let me....I want to....I want you so much, I just...._

Seb reaches out and finally shuts off the water, and the sudden silence makes Chris's ears ring a little. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to clear it, and finds Sebastian looking at him sharply.

"You OK?"

"I'm fine," Chris says dismissively. "Kinda lightheaded, is all."

Seb then displays a really disquieting memory for Chris's offhand remarks about food that his mother would envy. "Didn't you say you skipped lunch? And probably didn't have much breakfast, either, we were running so late..."

"Jesus," Chris mutters. He looks at Seb, beautiful and talented and smart as hell and, for some reason, actually giving a shit about whether or not Chris eats his stupid chicken sausage frittata, and asks: "What are we doing?" _Why do you care? What is this?_

Seb, to his credit, doesn't look too surprised, and also doesn't pretend Chris is maybe talking about the dangers of fucking his co-star, or his brand-new bisexuality, or even the suicidality of fucking his same-sex Marvel co-star in the age of phone hacks and international filesharing. He might not always be direct, but he's almost always honest.

"We can talk about it," he says easily. "But it might take a little while....and I'm not sure it's something we'd want to do in a public restaurant. If you still wanted to go." The offer is oblique, but clear: if Chris wants to just forget it for now, Seb will too. He doesn't want to push Chris in any way, not about this.

Chris is kind of amazed at that, but he's the one who asked, so he says: "Room service?"

"Room service," Sebastian agrees. "Yeah. OK."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is now a series! These three (so far) fics are collected under the title "we can be heroes," in honour of David Bowie, and there's probably going to be two more, and possibly an epilogue.
> 
> Thank everyone so much for the LOVELY comments -- I haven't answered them all yet, because my life is very messy and I'm actually a bit shy. But I appreciate all of them! especially since I'm not used to writing explicit fic, but this has been a blast.


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